


Auction Day

by melagan



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, First Time, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-09
Updated: 2013-11-09
Packaged: 2017-12-31 23:14:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melagan/pseuds/melagan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an apocalyptic event, the rules have changed. Now, everyone faces mandatory Auction at the age of twenty-one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auction Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lysambre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysambre/gifts).



> Written for Lysambre. This was an auction fic and due many, many moons ago.

Jeannie stood on her tiptoes to adjust her brother's bow tie. She still hadn't caught up to his latest growth spurt, much to her annoyance. She gave the tie a sharp tug. "Hold still, Mer."

"Rodney. You have to call me that now. It's official. I made sure all the paperwork reads Rodney Meredith McKay."

"Yeah right, just like you lied about your age, too," Jeannie said. "You can say the word official all you like, it won't mean much if you get caught." She sighed. "You don't have to do this. Not everyone has to choose Auction. Not even after they turn twenty-one, and have to claim Intent of Service. If they find out you're only seventeen, Mer—"

"Almost eighteen."

"In three more months." Stepping back, she put her hands on her hips and scowled up at her brother. "You're doing this for me, aren't you? Well, don't. It will be years before it's my turn at auction and maybe by then…"

"What? Maybe by then mom and dad will come into lots of money and will pay for our college education for us?" Rodney asked. "Oh please, they wouldn't, even if they could. As it is, they can barely make the payments to keep themselves off the auction block."

Rodney laid his hands gently on Jeannie's shoulders. "This is the best way. I'm smart. Smart enough to bring in high bids from the best universities. Who wins me doesn't matter. What matters is that I'll have access to some of the best labs out there. They can only take credit for my work for the first five years."

"Five years, Mer." 

"Yes, but you know as well as I do, auction claims have to be either released or renewed after six years. Six years, Jeannie. I’ll have an entire year to use university resources for work under my own name. That's more than enough time to prove my value.

"Because," Jeannie said, swallowing hard, "in six years I'll be twenty-one." 

"I'll insist that I need you to work with me. All you have to do is claim your Intent of Service is to Family Obligation."

"But Mer, I thought only rich kids could get away with that."

"Nope, not under the scientific advancement clause. My work will hold enough influence by then that the district committee will have to agree. You won't have to go to auction, I swear. But, Jeannie, I have to do this now."

"Okay, I get it, but I don't have to like it."

"Stop worrying,” Rodney said. "It's not so bad. Besides, I'm not going to waste my best years waiting until I'm twenty-one. I'm a catch, and any Uni worth working at will be lining up to bid on me and my ideas."

"I still don't like it, Mer. Dad tells stories about brilliant scientists trapped in auction rotation for their entire lives."

"Yes, yes, but they're not me, are they?" Rodney smirked.

With a final tug at the hem of his suit coat Rodney straightened, pushing his shoulders back and his chest out. "How do I look? Is my hair okay? Do I look smart? Maybe I should borrow some glasses. What do you think?"

Jeannie stepped back and surveyed her brother. The powder blue suit was long out of fashion but the ruffles at the wrist were nice. They'd found the suit in the back of her dad's closet, carefully wrapped in plastic. It must have been there a long time, but the wrapping had kept it clean and after a few days, most of the funny smell had disappeared. 

Her brother's growth spurt was more than just height. His shoulders filled the coat out quite well, which helped hide his too-thin frame. She supposed Mer would grow into it eventually, but until that happened, he looked all cheekbones and knobby wrists. 

At least he'd tied his hair back neatly enough. If you didn't look too close, you couldn't tell that he'd used a shoestring. They didn't have anything else, so it would have to do. 

"Do you…" Jeannie reached up to touch Mer's blonde curls. His hair wasn't as long as hers but when left unbound it fell to his shoulder blades. "Do you think your high bidder will make you cut it?" 

"Stop being such a girl. It's only hair. I'd cut it myself if we could afford it. Don't get any ideas. I'm certainly not letting you get near enough to do some hack job and risk my ears in the process."

"Well," Jeannie said with a raised chin and a sniff, "I wasn't offering. You look fine. Aside from the pants."

"My pants?"

"They're an inch over your ankles, Mer. Unless you know how to let a hem down…"

"No one is going to look at my trousers, Jeannie. They are going to be far more interested in my brain."

~*~

Rodney gazed up at double doors to the Allina Star Auction House. Wiping his palms on his trousers he took a deep breath. This had to work. He'd certainly picked the place out carefully enough.

His friend Lindstrom had dropped him off with a fast handshake and faster good luck wishes before taking off on his scooter like his house was on fire. Rodney didn't blame him for not hanging around. Lindy was twenty years old with even fewer resources than the McKay family had. He’d be in a place like this soon enough.

The Allina Star was a lesser-known House, but still considered respectable. Faded with time and apathy, it was a perfect match to its surroundings. More importantly, it was a House that hadn't checked his credentials too closely.

The auction system wasn't all bad. It was certainly better than the press gangs and food riots of forty years ago. His parents rarely spoke about it, but Rodney knew it had been bad. Even now, no one ever talked of trying to rebuild the cities. Instead, people spread out, formed communities, and used the auction block to connect needs with services. 

In the beginning, Auction based itself on the old pattern of military recruitment centers – Even the slogans were similar. _Sign up! Be all you can be - at the company expense!_

But now, only the very wealthy or the universities had the kind of resources Rodney needed. He touched the thick pad of acceptance papers in his pocket like a talisman, squared his shoulders, and went inside.

Once his eyes adjusted in the dim light, Rodney's heart sunk in dismay. Nothing looked like they showed on the vids. To say the event room was bleak would have been a kindness. There were no plush gold ropes lining a runway or heavy, red velvet curtains draped from the rafters. The runway was a joke of flaking tan paint over cheap plywood boards. Someone had made an effort to keep the uneven planks from bowing by piling bricks on one end. It looked like more of a tripping hazard than a help. 

The auctioneer, a pinched, balding little man, barely looked at Rodney. "You're McKay?"

"I am." Rodney fumbled his papers out of his pocket and held them out to the man only to have him wave them away. 

"Don't need 'em. Get yourself out back. Don't trip on anything and don't volunteer any information. No one's paid for it yet, if you get my meaning. You just stay back there and out of trouble until I call your name."

Nodding, relieved that it was going to be that simple, Rodney headed toward the back. 

"McKay."

Rodney flinched at the harsh sound of the auctioneer's voice. He stopped in his tracks, dead certain he'd been caught lying, but instead the man said, "Keep your shirt on. This is a decent auction house. You pretty boys are always trouble and I'll have no unsightly shenanigans here."

Keep his shirt on? Rodney wrapped his coat tighter around himself and for the first time started to wonder what he'd gotten himself into.

~*~

When he finally heard his name called, he stepped out on the rickety runway with as much confidence as he could muster. Squinting against the bright lights, Rodney frowned. There were only two prospective buyers present.. Where were all the science reps? He'd submitted the paper 'verts himself, not trusting anyone else to extol his genius properly.

The buyer nearest Rodney held a bidding paddle with a university symbol. Rodney knew this emblem; he knew every university emblem. Even without the sign, the tweed jacket with leather elbow patches was a dead give-away. Liberal Arts. Rodney shuddered. He might be brilliant, but he still needed the right tools to work with. Liberal arts, what a waste. This was turning into a fucking disaster.

The second possibility, and Rodney thanked god there were at least two interested parties, was a pasty-faced gentleman wearing a black suit. He stood with his back to the wall and sported, none too subtly, a briefcase chained to his wrist. Belatedly, Rodney realized the man had government proxy written all over him. There could only be one thing he had come to bid on Rodney for – weapons research. 

Rodney cursed his luck. He knew the stories. Once in, no one ever got out of weapons research. Not still sane anyway. With agonized relief, Rodney watched a latecomer burst in to interrupt the proceedings. 

This new bidder didn't look any older than Rodney and that's where any similarity ended. The new buyer wore his brown hair pulled forward in a silly avant-garde style whose only purpose, as near as Rodney could tell, was to show off the large gold hoops in the man's ears. 

The kid's shirt was an unremarkable cream and his jeans were full of holes. He resembled a vagabond, until close scrutiny proved the shirt to be tailored silk and the jeans designer-made. Rodney imagined he could feed his family for a month on the cost of that one outfit. 

Baffled, Rodney watched as the auctioneer whispered furiously in the newcomer's ear. He was no doubt trying to persuade the rich young buyer to take his interests to one of the major houses. Somewhere with a wider selection of choices and exactly the kind of place Rodney could have gone if he'd dared to be caught lying on his paperwork. 

There was a flash of a grin from the young man and he passed a sleek, black credit rod to the auctioneer. Rodney's eyes widened. He'd heard of credit rods, of course. Everyone had, but he'd always thought the black rods were a myth.  
A heartbeat later, the auctioneer's hammer smashed down with a dull thud as he yelled, "Sold!"

The next moments passed in a blur as Rodney realized the auction was over. 

"Well, no need stand on ceremony now," the auctioneer said. "Get over here, McKay, and meet your new owner. Looks like fortune was shining down on you, young fella. It's a rare day we see someone from the Debris Reclamation Corps."

"The Debris Corps?" Rodney asked. "Isn't that…uh, will I be going into space?"

"Of course not, Mr. McKay," his youthful buyer said, stepping forward with a too easy smile. "The Corps is entirely voluntary." He held out his hand and Rodney shook it carefully. "My name's Dave Sheppard. My father is the one on the DRC commission, not me. That's what the auctioneer meant— never mind, that's not why I — look, I don't want to get into it here." 

"Debris reclamation, it's…" Rodney smiled weakly. He knew perfectly well how vital debris reclamation was. Vital but dangerous. 

Dave clapped a hand down on Rodney's shoulder. "— it's what's going to save the planet and you're grateful. No need to say more."

Nodding politely at Dave, Rodney kept his mouth shut, and his fingers crossed. Workers died easy out in space. Yes, the DRC took volunteers. Usually they were desperate souls with no other recourse: criminals, runaways, and troublemakers. They were the people no one would bid on. People no one wanted. Rodney knew damn well that falsifying his auction paperwork was an illegal act. The kind that could vault him straight into criminal territory and DRC recruitment.

~*~

The car ride seemed to take forever. His gaze shifted from the window to the chauffeur and back again to Dave. Each passing mile of boring countryside worked on Rodney's nerves as he waited for Dave to say something. Anything. Unable to bear it he finally blurted, "What did you buy me for?" 

"I wondered when you'd ask." Dave smirked. "I've been sitting here watching you practically crawl out of your skin for the last forty minutes. Relax. I didn't buy you for any immoral purposes. Ah…" For the first time since the Auction, Dave looked discomforted. "Look, I read your specs. I know you're smart and to be honest, it doesn't hurt that you're easy on the eyes." 

Rodney's tossed his hands up in the air, "I knew it!" He stabbed a finger at Dave. "You….you, pipsqeak! You bought me under false pretenses! I should —well, I don't know what I should do exactly…." His argument trailed off as Rodney remembered his own shaky footing. Thrusting out his jaw, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for Dave to explain.

"You've got a lot to learn McKay, so listen up. For starters, I want you to understand something about my family history," Dave began. "We Sheppards haven't … we haven't always been like this." 

"And this is helping me, how?" Rodney asked. "You know what, I don't really care what your family issues are. If you really want to be helpful, give me a list of the resources I can use."

Dave looked surprised. "Rodney, you can have all the resources it's in my power to give you. Okay, I'll admit that's limited because I wasn't supposed to buy you in the first place."

"You have got to be kidding me! This just keeps getting better and better."

Fine," Dave snapped. "The truth is my brother needs someone like you around."

"Really. Go on." Rodney gestured for Dave to keep talking. "This has got to be good." 

With a glare in Rodney's direction, Dave continued. "Our dad, is pushing the family business onto John. He's still two years away from his own Auction but my brother is stupidly going along with it. Probably because he feels guilty. John likes to think all the Auction abuses in the world are somehow his fault. At this rate he's going to work himself into an ulcer or a heart attack before he's ever old enough to go to Auction."

"What makes you think I can make a difference?" 

"John won't listen to me, I'm just the annoying kid brother to him. But, I have a feeling you won't have any trouble calling John on his bullshit. He needs that. Besides," Dave ran his gaze slowly over the length of Rodney's body and grinned. "I'm not going to tell you what to do with it, but you really are his type."

~*~

John raked both hands through his hair in frustration. Pushing away from the desk, he glared at the computer monitor. He had to learn this stuff, like it or not. Didn't matter that his own turn at Auction lay two years away but his father, good ol' Patrick Sheppard deemed there was no time like the present for John to learn the business.

He'd tried protesting but that hadn't done him a damn bit of good. In one of the most uncomfortable meetings of his young life, Patrick and clearly and calmly sketched out John's options. Turned out there was only one. 

As the oldest, John was heir to the family Spaceyard. Auction might be the law of the land, but John would never see the inside of an Auction House. How could he, his father explained, when John's market value would cause a bidding war? Rival companies would fight to own a piece of the Sheppard holdings, even when that holding stood in the form of one young man. 

Instead, John would claim Intent of Family Obligation, and to do that he'd need to prove he was an asset. Proving he was an asset, well, that's what landed him here, sitting in front of junk tech and trying to make it work. 

Frustration aside, he knew what this was really about. Dear ol' dad wanted to run off and play with his new trio of Auctionettes. John had barely managed not to roll his eyes when his father had introduced his new secretaries — a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. Not one of them looked over twenty-one.

The new recruits didn’t seem unhappy about being here – the brunette kept smiling and trying to touch John’s leg. Flinching John moved to stand behind a chair. Idiot girls. This was obviously their first auction and his father… John grit his teeth. His father had no doubt outbid all of the legitimate proxies in a show of Sheppard wealth at its finest. Bastard. Now that John's mother was gone, his father wasn't even trying to be subtle. It was everything John loathed about Auction.

One day, maybe he'd be able to change things. For now — John balled his hands into fists, clenching is jaw and vowed — he'd never, ever have anything to do with the buying of another human being. 

With a snort of disgust, he glared at the computer screen. Time to get back to one problem he might be able to do something about. John was good at figures – and these weren’t adding up right. So the question was, did he suspect gross mismanagement, or was there a serious glitch in the antiquated computer equipment?

One bitter sigh later, he shut the program down. First things first. He needed an upgrade and he knew exactly who to ask for help.

~*~

"Specialist Dex, Sir?" The intern hauled himself up the last ladder rung, face red from exertion. "You said you needed to know right away if Mr. John Sheppard came on the line. He's on channel two, Sir!" Passing over the radio into Dex's waiting hand, the intern took a minute to catch his breath.

"Thanks, Walter." Dex gave him a sharp nod. "You can go back to the control room now. And, put some oil on that wrist. I heard a squeak in your rotator gear. Can't have those brass rods freezing up on us when we need it, now can we?"

"Right away, Sir," Walter said, with a shy grin. Ronon Dex was an impressive man. He'd saved Walter's life twice since he'd joined Dex's crew. 

He'd heard the talk of course. There were those that claimed Ronon Dex once pulled his gun on a man just for making fun of the ship's name, _Lucy_. It was a fine name in Walter's opinion and Dex was still top ace in his eyes. By Jove, there weren't many Reclamation specialists around and Dex was the only one Walter knew that would take a one-armed ampy on board and treat him like a regular guy. He rotated his metal wrist a quarter turn. Damn, there was a squeak. Not taking any chances, Walter ran off to find the nearest oil can.

~*~

Ronon Dex scowled at the radio in his hand. John was not going to be happy with his report. Which meant — Ronon still owed him one.

At twenty-one, Ronon considered himself a man, nearly at his full growth and facing his first Auction. John, he remembered was just a kid, a scrawny one at that, his head barely coming up as high as Ronon's shoulder. Even so, he'd snuck in the back of the auction house and passed out curled up paper invites to everyone still waiting for their turn to parade down the catwalk. 

Some tossed the paper away without looking. Others laughed or turned pale at the words. Ronon looked his carefully. The invite, written in the overly precise hand of someone too young and too serious, simply said, _Debris Reclamation Corps. Best ship in the fleet leaves at 11 PM tonight._

Of the eighteen people waiting for their names to be called, Ronon Dex was the only one that walked away. Since then, he’d spent every day tasting a freedom men like him rarely got to have.

He swore under his breath. One day he'd pay John Sheppard back. Until then, it was no hardship giving the young man his allegiance or his gratitude.

With a rueful smile, Ronon hit the transmit button. "What do you want, Sheppard?"

"Ronon, it's good to hear you, buddy." John’s voice came over the radio in a tinny-sounding drawl. "I need to know if you've found any of that tech we talked about. Please tell me you've salvaged something I can use."

"This about the company computers again?"

"Yeah. I know it's a long shot, but if you've got anything…no one even knows how to make that kind of tech anymore, let alone upgrade it.."

"I hate to remind you," Ronon said," but the best tech was kept in the command consoles and the bridge. Which means —."

"—They were in the hardest hit areas of the ships. Damn it, Ronon, I can't do anything with these systems the way they are."

Ronon heard John sigh and wished he had a better answer for him. "You should consider Teyla's suggestion. I know how much you hate Auction, John, but you need an expert for this."

"Buy someone you mean. Use them. I can't believe Teyla even suggested—"

"It's not like that, and you know it," Ronon said. "She hates the abuses in the system as much as anyone, but it's the tool at hand and she's a practical woman. She's helped a lot of people by buying up their six-years and making sure they got the training they needed." 

Ronon could practically feel the wall of stubbornness slam up on the other end of the radio. 

"Pride's fine, Sheppard, but if your plan is going to work, you need someone that can make this space tech work with the junk left on the planet."

"But you guys already have access to the best stuff," John protested. 

"What we have," Ronon said, "is first pick at the salvage and you know it. Gotta keep what we need to keep our ships in good repair or we can't do our job. Save the planet. Ask us to weld a hull or fine tune a pivot-poke and we're your guys. But we can't do what you're asking."

The quiet, "Fuck," on the other end of the radio was not the response Ronon was hoping for.

"John, no one who knows you is going to think you're anything like your father. Get yourself a scientist. Or one of those Renaissance nerds the Discovery channel is always talking about. Let him figure it out. Hell, buy an old fart from one of the universities if it makes your conscience feel any better."

There was a long silence. When John's voice came back over the radio, he sounded exhausted. "Just come see me when you get dirtside, okay?"

Ronon clicked his radio off. Anything else they had to say, they could say in person. Meanwhile, there was another broken carcass of a ship ready to Dis and Drag. His crew did good D &D work, and Ronon was proud of them. 

This next piece broken hulk would be the last chunk of salvage out of this rotation and thankfully, it looked more promising than the last. Early reports stated that the vapor seal on captain's door appeared intact. If that were true anything behind that door could be in as pristine condition as it was the day the ship launched for space. Ronon rubbed his chin. John might get wish after all. 

There was an air of excitement on the bridge as they drew close to their target. Patiently Ronon waited for the drifting hulk to close the meters between its decaying orbit and the _Lucy_. 

"Easy boys, we're almost there." Ronon gave the intercept command to his waiting grappling crew. With a satisfied smile he added, "Hook it good, Walter. We don't want any part of this beauty breaking away."

"Got it, Sir." Walter used both hands on the controls with practiced ease. "We have a stable lock, Sir. We're good to go."

"Tell the boarding crew to be ready in ten and meet me at the airlock."

"You're going across, Sir?" Walter asked.

"Wouldn't miss this one for the world." Ronon trusted his crew to strip and dismantle every usable part before they dragged the remains out of its decaying orbit and set it on a one-way course to the Sun. But, what John needed he had the best chance of finding. Sure, it was dangerous. Hell, there were at least fifty ways a person could die out here – collisional cascading, explosions from deteriorating fuel tanks, radiation, decompression or sheer bad luck, and that was just before breakfast. Ronon grinned as he pulled on his gloves. For a DRC man — it made for a hell of a good time.

~*~

Teyla Emmagan stood outside the Allina Star Auction House, the narrow Plastistrip advertising the day's auction lots tucked safely into one palm. She was late. The opening bids were over and she feared her delay on the road may have cost her dearly.

Her antiquated car looked impressive, which precisely is why she'd driven it today. Teyla needed that appearance of wealth. Needed it to lend credibility to her role as a woman merely indulging in an Auction shopping spree. 

Unfortunately, finding materials to keep up with repairs on such a vehicle, like so many things these days, created its own difficulty. So she'd sat, watching people on horseback and bicycles pass her by, as steam poured from the radiator of her poor, overheated V-8.

A lesser woman might have cursed and kicked the tires out of frustration. Teyla however considered such an action irrational and petty — and she would vehemently deny the scuffmarks on the toe of her shoe.

Still, perhaps she wasn't too late. Smoothing her long skirt, she set her shoulders in determination and entered the auction house. There might still be an opportunity to bid on Rodney McKay.

~*~

"You sold him? How long ago?" Teyla asked, trying to conceal her dismay.

"Couple of hours ago." With a coy smile, the auctioneer rubbed the empty palm of his hand. 

"I see." Teyla rolled a silver credit chip across the counter." Then perhaps you could tell me who made the purchase?" 

"I really shouldn't. Private sale and all."

Her voice held a dangerous edge as she leaned closer to the old man. "Oh, I think you really should."

The auctioneer drew back. With a nervous twitch of his fingers, he carefully pulled the agreement from his stack of papers and angled it so Teyla that could see the signature. Her jaw clenched. _Sheppard._ Skyfall, this complicated things. 

He began to pull the contract away and she grabbed him by one scrawny wrist. "Wait." The first name was written an unreadable scrawl and Teyla reached for that straw of hope. "Describe the man who purchased Rodney McKay."

"Look lady, I don't want no trouble. I'll tell you if you just promise to leave." He pulled a dingy handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his forehead. When she nodded, he continued, "He was young. Cocky. Had spoiled brat written all over him. A real rogue, that one, with too much flash for his own good if you ask me."

Teyla drew in relieved breath. Not Patrick then but one of his boys. "What did he buy McKay for?"

"He didn't say."

She let go of his wrist. Concealing her bafflement, she gave a final glance at the page and turned to leave. The description fit neither the head of Sheppard DRC nor his eldest son. A smile edged up the side of her mouth as Teyla tried to picture John Sheppard as a flashy rogue. 

That left…Teyla's eyes narrowed. What on earth could Dave Sheppard possibly want with Rodney?

~*~

John set the radio mike carefully in its cradle and leaned back in his chair. He gently rubbed at his temples, trying to ease the tension before it became a killer headache. Any conversation with Ronon Dex had a tendency to have that effect on him.

The man certainly minced no words when he had an opinion, and in John's experience, Ronon always had an opinion. And now, he could barely believe it. Ronon was siding with Teyla and pushing John to buy who he needed. Fuck.

Needing a distraction, he surveyed his surroundings, taking note of the sharp contrast between the communications annex , and the office he'd just come from. Green and aqua lights blinked back at John from the console, bathing his face in their soft glow. 

Everything here was state of the art. As much as John might moan over the antiquated equipment he had to work with, and as dearly as he wanted to upgrade, he'd never sacrifice this. This room was a lifeline to Reclamation Corps and the small eight-man crews piloting the ships. 

The ships were compact, tough, and loaded with safety features. They also lacked weapons of any kind. Could they devise weapons from the debris? Probably. John didn't ask and the corpsmen certainly wouldn't tell. 

A cold chill ran down John's back. Weapons in space. That's exactly what started this mess to begin with. 

Years ago, big business turned its eyes out beyond the confines of gravity. It wasn’t long before each corporation wanted its own piece of space. The race was on, for bigger, better, faster spaceships.

John's family had its hooks in a piece of that pie, too. Generations ago, the family logo graced some of the greatest vessels orbiting the planet. 

In time, industry and craftsmanship reached the limits of how fast, how big, and how ornate they could build the space liners and then it turned into a different kind of race. A race to build more powerful, more destructive weapons. If only corporate greed had turned their energies towards discovery and exploration beyond their solar system. But that didn't happen. Instead they warred within their home planet's own orbit, crowding each other for space until the sky was full.

John got up and poured himself a coffee, ignoring the way his hand shook. Maybe the coffee was fresh four hours ago and maybe that was a generous estimate. But he'd drink it. He'd drink it because right now, he needed something to hang on to. 

The one good thing he could say about his family's empire was that they'd focused on luxury, not weaponry. Luxury and a flair for the baroque, but at the sacrifice of good, solid, defensive shields. It had come back to bite them in the ass.

The Ship Wars. John knew some blamed it on a virus. A space-borne madness that affected pilots and their crew. Others blamed space-stress, gone undiagnosed until it culminated into violence. But since no one could actually explain what space-stress was, that theory remained shaky at best.

Some factions claimed it was a curse, or the devil's punishment for daring to fly too close to heaven. Privately, John considered them wackos, but even the wackos were grateful for the work the DRC did. 

The research, the speculation, the conspiracy theories, none of it could provide answers to what caused the ships to begin firing on each other. 

When the cities came under fire, eyes turned with shocked horror to the skies. Everyone knew what happened next. John closed his eyes against the memory. Every schoolchild over the age of eight was made to listen to the old recordings. They came from salvaged tapes, home recorders, and a rare few from the black boxes themselves. But there was one thing they had in common - the screams. 

The attacks had turned every major port and city into hollowed-out shells. Greasy, shadowed spots on the planet's surface too dangerous and too unstable to inhabit.

Now the wars were over and instead of building ships, clearing the skies became the new Sheppard legacy. Reclamation was a stab at redemption but in John's mind a bitter one. Because he knew exactly how much of the deadly orbiting wreckage had once come from his family's spaceyard.

Disgusted with the coffee and the situation, John decided to go back to the office and give the computers one more try. A thin, tight smile crossed his face. If he could somehow prove the Auction Houses deliberately mismanaged funds, it would be the first step towards destroying them for good.

~*~

John walked into his office and came to a dead stop. A complete stranger was bent over John's computer workstation and appeared to be gutting it.

With a growl, John stalked over and stared down in disbelief at the mess of cables and a lone, still smoking, soldering iron. Computer parts littered his desk in a spiral of haphazard organization. "Who the hell are you?" 

"Mmmfffgm," the young man stood, took the screwdriver out of his mouth, and bestowed crooked smile on John. "Name's Rodney McKay. You must be the brother. Dave mentioned a few things that — oh, here he is now." 

Dave came up behind John and clamped a hand down on his shoulder. "Surprise! I spent the morning shopping just for you, big brother." He made a flamboyant wave in Rodney's direction. "I guarantee, you're going to love him."

"Oh please, tell me you didn't," John said, knowing it was already too late.

"Contract signed, sealed and I took the liberty of delivering Mr. McKay personally. He's going to be your new best friend, John. Besides, he knows his way around computers like nobody's business. Space knows, you've been harping about these old things for ages. I'm sure I'm not the only one sick and tired of hearing about it."

Dave smirked at him in a way that made John want to wipe the floor with his face. But before he had a chance to retaliate, his snotty little twerp of a brother was out the door, waving his fingertips at John in a last, mocking, "Ta-ta." 

"You know," Rodney said, "I think he acts like that so people will underestimate him."

"You don’t know anything about him!" John gritted through clenched teeth. "Don't try to tell me you know more about my family than I do. You've known him, what? A few hours?"

Rodney stared back with a raised eyebrow and observant glint in his eye that made the hairs on the back of John's neck prickle. Then he shrugged, John's ire rolling off his shoulders like it never existed. "Let's just say I had an enlightening conversation with your brother Dave on the ride over here. Remind me to tell you about it sometime."

There it was again. That same funny, too brief, quirk of Rodney's mouth that John was already learning to be wary of.

"And for the record, Sheppard, I noticed you didn't deny it. In fact, I don't think either one of you are remotely what you seem to be." Rodney tapped a few keys booting up the screen and effectively ignoring John but he still kept talking. "That's why I like computers. People are too much damn trouble to figure out. Just, do me a favor, when you two do implode, keep me out of it?"

The sheer effrontery of McKay's assumptions about his family – from someone who looked barely old enough to shave, no less -- stunned John. It didn't help that Rodney wasn't wrong. 

Interested despite the circumstance, John leaned one hip casually against the desk, and asked, "What am I supposed to do with you?" 

"Technically, you don't do anything. That's up to your brother. I gather he's under the impression that you need someone to, ah, loosen you up. Ha! Don't give me that look. It wasn't my choice of words. Besides, from what I can see, you're brimming with repressed frustration. Frankly, Mr. Sheppard, as long as I get my promised lab time and a chance to work on my own papers, this cockamamie arrangement is fine with me."

John gave a disgusted sigh. "What I'd like is to not have to deal with this -" he waved a hand at the mess of computer parts, " - or you."

"Peachy," Rodney snapped back. "Dave's right about one thing. You're more uptight than I am. Although," he paused with a brief smile at John, "I prefer to think of myself as focused. Well, then," he made an impatient gesture, "’fess up. What do you do for fun?"

Narrowing his eyes, John said, "Forget about that for now. Where exactly do you think you're staying? Or did Dave bother to plan that far ahead?" 

"Actually, your brother seems to have thought this out quite well." Rodney pointed to the navy button-down shirt he wore. "He bought me these clothes—said I needed to fit in. Not my taste, mind you and god, I'm hoping the three-piece monkey suit will sit in the back of the closet and collect dust, but he did seem motivated."

Rodney paused, craning his neck in an attempt to see his backside. "Only, these jeans seem snug." He twisted in a half-turn. "Do they look the wrong size to you?"

John choked out a strangled noise. "They're …they look…it's good. Fine, I mean. Um, what else, did my brother arrange?"

Though his chin angled in defiance, Rodney's wide, blue eyes held uncertainty as he cleared his throat. “I'm…um… staying with you." He took a step back at the look on John's face. "I mean…I don't mean with you, with you. I mean I'm staying in your house in the bedroom next to yours. 

"Look, I get that this wasn't your idea, Sheppard. Believe me; I didn't put myself up for auction to be a stupid gift for some uptight jerk who can't get his head out of his ass, but, I'm here now, and I'm not giving up my chance to use your company's resources for my research. Besides, your brother promised. Deal with it."

Drawing in a steadying breath, John rubbed his temples and wondered what in hell he was going to do now. This skinny, irritating blond with the tender cheekbones and stupid long eyelashes looked even younger than Dave. Sure, the paper work would claim him to be a legal twenty-one, he couldn't get into Auction otherwise, but it wouldn't be the first time someone had lied. And McKay — he had big, fat, lie written all over him. 

Damn it. This complicated things. John couldn't just send him back to the auction pool. Someone would investigate, they always did. They'd all be in trouble with the Auction authorities then - himself, Dave, and McKay. Worse, the investigation could uncover John's plans to eliminate Auction. He didn’t even want to imagine what the punishment for that might be, but it would probably make the DRC look like a Ferris wheel ride. 

Screwed or not, he didn’t want this. Didn't want ownership. Never did. It was best he make that clear at the outset.

Rodney stood in front of him, anxiously shifting from foot to foot. 

"Look," John began. "Don't take this personally, but I don't want you." He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at the floor before continuing. "I'll make arrangements with my brother to clear this up. You won't, ah, you won't be left without some kind of recompense for your time. I'll figure something out." Something, he didn't add, that won't get us all sent to the urban wastelands.

He looked up to find himself under the furious glare of his temporary - his – damn it – _his_ auctionet. But the glare wasn't enough. No, Rodney had his arms folded across his chest and those lips now curved in an unhappy line. 

"You are not stiffing me, Mr. Sheppard. You owe me this. I swear I will make your life miserable if you try to back out now.”

"Fine!" John snapped. Rodney had him over the proverbial barrel. For now. Equally uncompromising, he mimicked McKay's stance and glared back. "But we're doing this my way. First, don't call me Mr. Sheppard. That's my father, and we're not going there. Ever."

Rodney rolled his eyes in a way that made John's blood boil. 

"Fine. You want to loosen me up _auction-get?_ ” That was a slur straight from the old man's vocabulary. _Get_ this or _get_ that, and John winced hating that he let himself be goaded into it. Well, at least he'd stunned Rodney into quiet attention. Quiet, but really, really annoyed judging from the high color in his auctionet's cheeks and the set of his jaw. John's own jaw hurt from just looking at it but damn it, he wasn't going to let this mouthy, skinny twirp get the better of him. "I'll have the car here in an hour." John snapped. "Be ready. Oh, and be sure to wear something comfortable because I intend to show you exactly how I like to work the tension out."

~*~

"This is what you do for fun?" Rodney fought to keep the question at a low shriek, but it didn't stop him from being appalled. For a reply, all he got from John for his efforts was a cheeky grin and a rude hand gesture.

It was a game called running ball. Rodney had no idea why John enjoyed it. Hours of running around under open sky and the one building close enough to be any protection wouldn't hold up to a strong gust of wind, let alone a debris-hail. He looked up at the sky, rubbing his arms against the cooling breeze, and prayed the Corps was up there doing their job right.

John ran by, hair flopping in the breeze, a mangy-looking ball tucked close to his chest and a grin so wide Rodney couldn't help grinning back. It didn't stop him from yelling, "You're going to catch your death and I'll never forgive you if you annihilate me with you!" It was almost a relief when fifteen minutes later dark clouds rolled in and simple rain came pouring down. 

Rodney's relief was short lived. The rain fell hard and furious, big splattering drops of it, as cold as ice. In minutes, everyone was wet to the bone and the game was unceremoniously canceled. People left quickly after that, leaving John alone on the muddy field. He trudged towards Rodney, head bent, clothes covered with mud.

"Well?" Rodney asked, shivering in the rain. "When is your car coming to pick us up?"

"It's not." John's teeth were chattering now. "Bro..broke th..the radio when the guys ta…tackled me last ti…time." 

"Good grief. Why didn't you let me hold it? Never mind, I'm sure someone will show up eventually. Right now, we need to get off this field. You're beginning to turn blue." 

John held up a shaking finger and pointed to the shed.

"Well, obviously. It's not like there's anyplace else to go." Rodney tugged John's elbow. "It looks like something an asthmatic wolf could huff and puff into sticks, but maybe there's a way to build a fire." Rodney shivered. Water ran in icy rivulets over his face. John was no better off, even his cowlicks seemed to give up the fight.

~*~

The shed's lock took Rodney all of four seconds to jimmy. He looked up at John with a smug grin, "It was a crappy lock, but hey, at least the building seems study enough."

They stepped in, bumping against each other in their haste to get out of the rain. 

"Well," John said, peering into the gloom, "at least it's dry." John hit the light switch. "Wow, look at all this stuff." 

"It's full of old lawn and mowing equipment. Hm," Rodney ran a finger along the edge of a one motor. "Everything's been cleaned and oiled. No doubt by some optimist keeping it ready for the day the debris-fall ends.. Depressing really when you think about it."

"There!' John pointed to the back wall. "Th…there's a do..or. I b..bet this is one of those 'gency shelters."

Rodney nodded. "My parents said that back at the beginning everyone was turning storage space into some kind of bolt hole." He grabbed John's hand. "C'mon. Bet there's even a heater."

He was wrong about the heater, but there was a small stone fireplace with a pile of kindling stacked next to it. "See if you can start a fire. I'm going to look for blankets and food.” Rodney began rummaging through the cupboards as he talked. "I suppose there's no point in hoping for donuts. Oh look, soup! What kind do you like?"

John didn't answer, just stood there, his lips looking even bluer in the match light. Very carefully, he held the flame to the wood shavings and breathed out a sigh of relief when it caught. He looked up at Rodney. "Last one."

They both stood staring down at the tiny fire until finally it grew large enough for them to breathe easy. 

"You need to get out of those wet clothes," Rodney said, "We both do. We can't even sit on the couch like this—we'll soak it in seconds. We've already made a mess of the rug just standing here.

"Towels?" John asked.

"No. But I did find a couple pillowcases and a foil blanket. We can soak up the worst of the wet with the pillowcases and then…um, you're probably not going to like — hey!" 

John was already pulling his wet shirt off over his head. Seconds later, his pants hit the floor. Boxers and socks went next. They made a sodden little pile at John's feet. 

"You look like one giant goose bump!" Rodney blurted. Belatedly, he averted his gaze – not that he'd seen anything, not really — and thrust a pillowcase at John. "Here."

"You too," John insisted. "Get out of those clothes. I think you're making me even wetter by osmosis. 

"Very funny." Rodney dropped his clothes on the pile, clutching the pillowcase to his waist. It didn't dry him off by much, but at least the fire was beginning to help.

"Blanket?" John held out his hand. He'd torn out one seam of his pillowcase while Rodney kept himself occupied with not looking, and then he'd managed to tie it around his waist in a way that didn't look completely ridiculous. Rodney scowled, wishing he'd thought of that first. With a sigh, he handed over the foil blanket.

"Get on the couch, Rodney. I'll cover us up." Once fully unfolded, John held the blanket up and frowned. "It's kind of small isn't it?"

"I think it's made for one person."

"Oh," John said, looking completely dismayed.

"Give me that." Rodney snatched the blanket away from John. "I'll cover us. And yes, we will actually have to touch each other. It's called huddling for warmth. Maybe you've heard of it?"

"Rodney. I don't know if this is a good idea. It's a really small blanket."

"Yes, yes, you've made it perfectly clear you don't like me and you don't like my auction boy status – well, I don't have cooties, John. I'm sick of being cold and you haven't stopped shivering since we got here."

"It's not that. I just wouldn't take advantage of…some would, and I wouldn't. I just wouldn't. I want you to know that."

"You're blathering," Rodney snapped. "I think the cold has gotten to your brain and I can't feel my toes, so come on." He sighed. "John, it's only until the room is warm or someone comes to pick us up, okay?"

~*~

Finding a comfortable way to sit and share the blanket took considerable shifting. Finally, after an elbow to the rib for the third time, Rodney lost all patience. "Hold still and just let me…oomph! Ouch!" Rodney rubbed at his thigh where John's bony knee bumped against it. "Enough! Like this." He threw his arm over John's shoulder, none too gently – he had a bruised thigh to pay him back for, after all – and tugged him close.

Apparently, John was finally on board, as his arm slowly came around Rodney's waist. Granted, his wet hair poked Rodney in the ear and his hairy legs kept rubbing against his skin but it was worth it to finally start feeling warm again. 

Rodney shivered but not from the cold. He was warming up quicker than he expected. Parts of him anyway. He became very aware that they were almost entirely naked together and John smelled really, really good, and a little bit of thin fabric wasn't going to keep things hidden under wraps for long. 

Thinking about it made it worse. Jumping up, Rodney clutched the fabric with a death grip in one hand while his other landed on John's knee as he pushed away. John made a funny noise, a cross between a mewl and a growl, but Rodney couldn't spare any brain cells to think about that right now.

To distract himself, he started asking John questions. Questions about the spaceyards, favorite holidays, different sports, and best pizza toppings. John seemed eager to answer. It never crossed Rodney's mind that maybe John needed the distraction, too. 

"You don't seem to like Auction much. Why is that?" Rodney finally asked. 

"For as long as I can remember, I've seen the system abused and people hurt. I hate it. It seems like everyone is out for themselves and they don't care who they climb over."

Rodney nodded. "I've heard stories, but John, the Auction is in place for a reason. It's kept people from starving to death for one."

"Maybe in the old days but things have changed and I’m going to destroy Auction once and for all, if I can. That's why I need the computers up and running."

"You think someone tried to wipe incriminating evidence and that’s why the system crashed." Rodney said.

"I do. And I think there's evidence of falsified Auction documents. I just need to find it."

"False Auction documents?" Rodney squeaked. "Wha…what about Dave?"

"He hates it too, but he's got his own plan. Something about creating Service Houses that hire people out for jobs without asking them to commit years of their life to it. See if you can get him to explain it to you, sometime."

Before more could be said, a horn honked and John jumped up. "Car's here."

Rodney nodded and followed, his brain too occupied wondering if there was a trail of documents somewhere leading to his own lie.

~*~

John adjusted the grind on the coffee grinder a third time. He wanted this to be perfect. Rodney didn't ask for a lot but he did like his coffee and John considered it a challenge to make it the best brew possible.

It was silly. It was a waste of time. In fact, any sensible person, once seeing how Rodney gulped down that first morning cup, would be amazed that he had any taste buds left. John didn't care. He poked at the grounds and frowned when the fine, dry powder caked to his finger. He'd have to rethink this. Damn, ten minutes was obviously too long. 

John tossed the grounds in the sink and started fresh. He could do this. It wasn't rocket science. Rodney however, was rocket science. He was clear skies, science fiction, and geeky humor. He blew John's expectations away under the cover of sarcastic wit and snapping fingers A couple days ago he'd caught Rodney picking out all the peanuts chunks from the peanut butter. Creamy or chunky, Rodney didn't care how the spread hit his toast, but John did.  
Rodney had stopped licking the butter knife long enough to glare and say, "Don't make a big deal out of it. I'm not making any kind of apology." He shrugged. Consider it a truce."

John considered it -- not a truce. It was something though. A dance maybe. A challenge at least. A getting- to- know- you- by- outdoing- breakfast challenge. As he wiped up the coffee grounds John debated getting that particular sentiment engraved on a kitchen plaque just to see the expression on Rodney's face.

Most days they had breakfast together. Even when they didn't they always met at John's office later in the day. John spent hours sifting through the paper trail while Rodney worked on repairing the computers. Despite the slow progress, every now and again, John found himself humming.

~*~

John and Rodney sat at the kitchen table eating lunch. A spread of sandwich meats, cheese and a forlorn lettuce leaf made up the bulk of their meal. Rodney was offering up one of his usual scathing commentaries on his choice for idiot-of-the-week when Dave strolled in. John took one look at Dave's hairstyle and rolled his eyes. Without missing a beat, Rodney began expounding on the atrocious fashion cesspool of today's youth.

John couldn't help it. Rodney's honest, shoot-from-the-hip irreverence was absurdly refreshing. From somewhere deep inside, and beyond his control, a laugh bubbled up, and not even clamping one hand over his mouth could stop it.

"Getting acquainted, I see." Dave said. "Have you shown Rodney the rest of the properties or the spaceyards yet? I'm afraid I only had time to give him an appallingly quick tour of the house." 

"That wouldn't be because you couldn't wait to bring him over to the office so you could gloat, would it? Or would that be because you were too busy showing him my bedroom," John shot back.

"Showing him your bedroom? John, you make that sound so dirty. Of course, it's possible I might have rushed to see your reaction to my gift. As for the bedroom, it was simple convenience, giving him the room next to yours. Or would you rather I'd put such a valuable commodity in the servant's quarters now?"

"Excuse me, but I'm sitting right here," Rodney interrupted. 

"I know you're here." Without thinking, John reached over and wiped a speck of mustard from the corner of Rodney's mouth. For a long moment, he stared at the yellow smear on his thumb as if wondering why the hell he'd done that. His ears burned pink as Dave cleared his throat and John braced himself for a sarcastic comment that never came.

"Arbiter Emmagan wants to see me for afternoon tea. You know what that means." He looked at Rodney, then glanced back at his brother with a little smirk. "I can't imagine what kind of trouble she thinks I've gotten into."

"Frankly, I'm surprised she waited this long." John said. "It's been what, now, two weeks since the auction? Well, go on. Don't let us keep you."

"What was that all about?" Rodney asked John, as they watched Dave leave the room.

"I suspect it's all about you. With an arbiter, it always has something to do with Auction."

Rodney leveled a questioning look at John. "Do I need to worry?"

"Naw, Teyla Emmagan's mother used to work for us, and Teyla's own training for the job started at her mother's knee. Pretty much like I'm being groomed to take over the business. She's good, too." 

"Your house has its own Auction Arbiter?" 

"Don't look so surprised. Hate to break it to you, McKay, but most of the families I know do."The big estates need someone to sort out what kind of staff the house needs and to sift through the selections. Mom always said it took a real gift to find capable, trustworthy workers worth bidding on. Teyla's mom and mine used to spend hours…" John's jaw clenched. "You know, I really don't want to talk about this right now."

"Fine, fine." Rodney waved a dismissive hand. "We have more important things to talk about anyway. Such as, why haven't you shown me the space ships, already?" He grinned. "Can I sit in the pilot's seat?" 

In the next room, Dave gallantly guided Teyla to the best chair in the room. The tea service was already in place. With a little bow, he gestured to the teapot and asked, "Tea, Arbiter Emmagan?"

Teyla raised an eyebrow. "It's Arbiter Emmagan now? Your latest antics must have gotten you into more trouble than I imagined."

Dave shrugged. "Not really. Not like anyone would notice. Dad's away and John never pokes his nose out of the office these days."

"And yet, now you have me to deal with." Teyla calmly poured the tea and passed a cup to Dave with a smile. "We played as children together for many years; there is no need to be formal now. Please, sit down and explain this to me. Why have you purchased Rodney McKay?"

"Personal reasons," Dave answered, as he leaned back and put his booted feet up on the coffee table. "I don't think I want to say more until you tell me why you're so interested in him." 

Her spoon clicked against her teacup, a sharp, clear noise in the quiet room. A small furrow of worry teased between her eyebrows before she sighed and began to speak. 

"You are aware of the institution that purchased my six-years?

"Yes," Dave answered. "Carter Telemetry. C-Tel, as the newsvid likes to call it—one of the best known telemetry research facilities out there. As I recall, not only were they high bidder, the bid was the highest ever paid for someone with your particular skills." Dave aimed his most charming smile in Teyla's direction. "Not that anyone who knows you should be surprised by that."

"Ah, but what the newsvid's aren't saying is, it is the only telemetry facility remaining."

Dave sat up straight, cocky attitude falling away at the shock. "Teyla, how is this possible? The telemetry tracking stations can't all be gone…my god, if they can't get the information to the DRC in time for the corps to act, the rain of debris will destroy everything we've tried to rebuild." 

"I know. The situation is dire, but I will tell you this, the owner of my six-years is the daughter of the head of C-Tel. Samantha's a brilliant scientist and under her guidance the people at C-Tel have broadly widened the range of space they can monitor. 

"That's not going to be enough," Dave said.

"No. It is not. "They can't keep it up. They need to build at least two more stations. Three would be better."

"Okay." Dave set his teacup down with a shaky hand. "This is where you come in? Assessing the Auction lots for people with the right skills?"

"As well as those with the scientific potential to man such stations," Teyla answered with a nod.

"You believe Rodney McKay is one of those potential scientists?" Dave asked, struggling to regain his composure. "I assume that's your interest in him. He certainly doesn't look like a construction worker. If you don't mind my asking, isn't he a little young for that kind of responsibly?"

"Younger than you know," Teyla answered with a sigh. With a glance at Dave's questioning expression, she continued, "The skills and brilliance we need often appear in prodigies. Prodigies such as your newest acquisition."

Dave nearly choked on his tea. 

"Fortunately for everyone on the planet," Teyla continued, "they rarely have the patience to wait until they are of full age. Thirsty for knowledge and eager to shine, more sneak into Auction early than not. These are exactly the kind of young people I seek. For them to be wasted, auctioned to someone for a useless purpose, is a waste we cannot afford. 

"I gather this is your way of telling me that, not only is Rodney an illegal but that someone else wants him. Pardon my language, Teyla, but, fucking skyfall, what am I supposed to do now?"

Teyla smiled gently at him. It wasn't the comfort Dave assumed she meant it to be.

"Rodney McKay has, according to Samantha Carter, been on C-Tel's list since he was eight years old." She smiled. "Apparently, he caught their attention when he hacked into a newsvid computer and reprogrammed the teleprompter." 

"Eight years old? What kind of thing does a kid that age expect reporters to say?" Dave asked. "That suppliers should go back to putting toys in cereal boxes?"

"Not exactly. He wanted them to say that C-Tel should deliver sky maps to everyone on the planet. Maps with the trajectories of the largest threats clearly plotted so that someone wouldn't put their dog outside when their dog could get scared and runaway." She shook her head. "If that had gone public, things could have gotten very difficult for C-Tel. Even today, that would be a near impossible task."

"Well, that's an interesting story about McKay's wayward youth," Dave said, "but I can't help you," 

"Can't or won't?"

"I've given McKay to my brother as a gift. I'm certainly not going to take him back now. Surely you have others you can purchase?"

She pressed her lips together, tightly. "I do owe your family some loyalty. I admit it has hurt to see John struggle so with your father's actions. Do you truly think Rodney can help him?"

"I heard him laughing today, Teyla. For the first time since mom died. Granted, it sounded like a rusty wheeze, but it's a start." Dave leaned over and touched Teyla's arm. "I promise you, we'll give Rodney access to all of the technology and education we can provide. Just let it be for now."

"If he can help John, then he must stay. John takes himself too seriously and is so angry with Auction."

"Obsessed, you mean," Dave interrupted.

"It concerns me to see him driven like this. I worry that he will cross a line and not be able to pull back from it." Teyla stood to leave. "I will send you some documents that I wish you to encourage Rodney to study." 

"No problem. I've never seen anyone so hungry for knowledge. Better send everything you have."

She offered her hand and answered him with a soft smile. "Clear skies to you and your family, Dave Sheppard." 

"Clear skies, Teyla. Return soon. We've missed you."

~*~

"It's been almost two months, Rodney. How much longer will it take to fix them?" John asked. Ronon was due in any day now, and John hoped for a full status on all the office computers before he arrived.

"Hmmm. Hard to say. We still need some parts and," Rodney frowned, "Even then, it's a band-aid at best. This entire system should be scrapped, it's so old. Even running simple diagnostics on these dinosaurs slows the data stream to a crawl."

"I can't risk losing any of the data."

"Yeah, I get that." Rodney stood up and flexed his back. "I have a few contacts." He held up a hand. "No one I'm going to tell your secrets to, so relax. A friend of mine has family in the retail business. If I ask, Lindy will put out some feelers for me."

"By retailers you mean…?"

"Exactly what you think, John. Retailers. Treasure hunters. People willing to risk going into the urban wastelands and what's left of the cities to look for whatever they think they can sell on the black market." Rodney gave the computer a look of disgust. This thing is so old I half expect it to be running on vacuum tubes." 

"But you fixed the one in my office…" John started. 

"Band. Aid." Rodney sing-songed back at him. 

He folded his arms across his chest and glared. So far, this technique hadn't worked to get McKay to cooperate any faster, but John still had hope. 

"That's it." Rodney said. "We're getting out of here. This place is turning your brain dull. I can practically hear your minuscule brain cells screaming for help as they die off. 

"Seriously, Sheppard, we've spent the last month spinning our wheels between one useless computer and the next, and don't even try to tell me you can't leave because you have too much to do. Those paper airplanes in the trash have ratted you out.”

John looked around the office space as if really noticing it for the first time. "Yeah, god yeah, get me out of here.”

Rodney made a funny, elaborate bow and grinned. "At your service."

"Stop rubbing it in," but John smiled when he said it.

~*~

Rodney fumed; still aghast at the danger John had just put himself in. Heart pounding in his chest — and he wouldn't be forgiving John for that anytime soon — Rodney had been forced to watch as John recklessly raced around an obstacle course with a dozen other riders.

Equinprex. Better known as pixies. A nickname Rodney found both annoyingly cute and deceptive. Created at the height of genetic manipulation, there was nothing cute about the animal itself. A sleek, long-necked beast, it was designed for racing. Literally. Feathered, hoofed, and built for speed, they moved like the wind.

Their vestigial wings weren't strong enough to let them truly fly but when they jumped over obstacles, they soared further and higher than any normal horse had hopes of. 

"What were you thinking?" Rodney spit out, furious. He sorely wanted to punch something. Probably not John, but the cocky bastard's smirk wasn't helping matters any. "That's just reckless. When you mentioned having a good time at the races I thought you meant watching, not – not jumping onto one of these beasts to go galloping off, willy-nilly --you could have broken your neck!"

"Willy-nilly?" John slouched against the railing and looked at Rodney through ridiculously long eyelashes. "I don't think I've heard that racing term before."

"Shut up. I'm not done yelling at you!" 

"Aw, McKay, it was your idea to get out of the office, remember? Besides, you were right." 

John's voice sounded like dark honey and Rodney heart started pounding all over again. "Oh, that is so not fair." 

"What isn't fair, Rodney?" John's black racing leathers clung like they were molded to his skin. The angle of one slim hip canted in Rodney's direction practically begged to be nibbled on. 

Rodney clamped his jaw shut. He did not whimper when John's slow, lazy gaze traveled up the length of Rodney's body. Ignoring the heat prickling up his spine he asked, "Can we go home now? If you're all done defying death for the day?"

It occurred to Rodney then that baiting John was a mistake, because instead of walking away in a huff he slung his arm over Rodney's shoulders and bumped hips. Oh skies-have-mercy, John smelled just as good as he looked. 

"Sure, McKay," John drawled, "if that's what you want."

What Rodney wanted was to tackle Sheppard to the ground and peel away the racing leathers with his teeth. "Uhhhnn." 

"Okay then, back to the salt mines!" John gave Rodney a good-humored poke in the arm. “Maybe Ronon's back by now and we can make some progress."

John pulled the tight leather tunic off, yanking it over his head. It gave Rodney an excellent view of John's nipples. Pink, pert and nestled in dark chest hair that Rodney ached to find out if it was as soft as it looked. 

"The leather's hot." John gave his head a shake and pushed the wayward spikes of hair away from his face. His thumb toyed with the top button of his pants.

Rodney grit his teeth. This was torture. 

To the relief of Rodney's libido, they managed to get back to the main house without John shucking any more clothes. 

The next time Rodney saw him, John was back in a suit and tie and reaching for the phone. From Rodney's end, all he could hear were words that sounded like John agreeing to something and he'd bet all of his six-years that it had something to do with the computers.

John's next words confirmed it. "McKay, don't make any plans for tomorrow. Ronon is back and he's brought us some usable debris.” 

"Um," Rodney hesitated. "Your brother has plans for me. I have to go with him tomorrow."

"No. You can't go, I need you here."

"That's easy for you to say. Dave still holds my ownership papers." Rodney shrugged. "He's been reasonable so far. I don't know why this should be a problem."

"This, this right here is one of the reasons I hate Auction. No, don’t look at me like that." John said, "I don't hate you. You're, well, you're different. I mean that in a good way. But damn it, don't you want the freedom to make your own choices?

"What if I want to go with Dave?" Rodney asked. 

"Why would you…." John began.

"He's taking me to C-Tel. Carter Telemetry. John, I'm going to get a look at their systems. Get a feel for the place. Can you believe it?" Rodney practically bounced on his toes. "I've wanted to see that place my whole life."

"How long will you be gone?" John asked, sounding miserable.

"Hey, it's okay. Dave said we'd only be gone a few hours—a day at most. I promise I’ll work on your stuff the minute I get back."

"Don’t… just don't let my brother side-track you for too long. I've, ah," John rubbed the back of his neck, and mumbled, "kinda gotten used to you being around."

~*~

"Ronon!" John got up from his desk and crossed the floor in three strides. "Skyfall, but I'm glad to see you. Sit. Take a load off and tell me everything." He bounced on his toes. "Did you get the stuff?"

Ronon crossed his arms and glared. 

"But, you said…" John stopped, hands on his hips and did a little glaring of his own until Ronon's face broke into a huge grin. "You did!"

Ronon gave him a cuff on the shoulder. "Of course I did, little buddy. Good haul, too. Couple of trunks of computer parts and tech that our ships couldn't use. Teyla's put your staff to work taking care of it now. You think your little geek can make it work?

"My little geek's name is Rodney, and he isn't here right now." John restrained himself from pouting. Ronon would just tease him mercilessly for it. "Damn it, Ronon, Dave has him."

"Thought you said he was a gift?" Ronon asked. "Dave back out on it?"

"Not exactly. But he does still hold the buyer's contract." John groaned frustrated that Dave could take Rodney anytime he wanted and annoyed at himself for being frustrated. "It's confusing." Heat rose in his cheeks. "I mean it's complicated."

"I see." 

"They're supposed to be back in a couple hours. I…he…when…"

"Spit it out, Sheppard," Ronon said, "before you choke on your own tongue. Even better, let's get something to eat. You pick."

"He's not what I expected, okay? He's smart and clever. He says what he means even if it could get him in trouble. I think he sees people for who they really are. And…" John took a deep breath. "Rodney looks at me sometimes."

"He looks at you," Ronon responded, as dry as dust. 

John swallowed thickly. "Yeah. And I like it. I think—I want him to look at me the way he does all the time."

"Okay. We done sharing?"

John nodded, feeling mortified but better. He stole a glance at the clock. It was still hours before Rodney was due back. 

"C'mon then, let's go eat." Ronon said. He slung an arm over John's shoulder. "I've got something else to tell you about. It'll take your mind off things. You're going to find it -- interesting."

With nothing else to do, he let Ronon haul him away, first for a meal, and then an inspection of the salvaged tech. If they had to, they could use the retailers as a last resort, but he trusted Rodney to make the final decision on what they could use.

Oh god… Rodney. What if Dave decided to follow in their father's footsteps? John would never forgive his brother if he took advantage of Rodney like that. He decided he couldn't bear thinking about it anymore and tried to concentrate instead on what Ronon was telling him.

~*~

Rodney never noticed the passing hours, too caught up in the tech gold mine of Carter Telemetry. He did notice Samantha Carter – Sam – and couldn't wait to tell John about her, how smart she was and how she was letting Rodney touch everything to his heart's content. Better still, he was about to get his hands on the memory crystals. Sam promised to teach him how to encode the data and Rodney just knew John would be equally delighted when he told him.

Incorporating the programing into even the oldest of John's computers would be easier than skyfall. He'd have to strip out and recode some of it, and of course, he'd need to write a compression macro, but once the new parts were installed there'd be zero data loss. Not only would John be profoundly grateful but he'd never have to know about Rodney's own doubts and concerns for their project,

C-Tel ran 24-7. It had to, with the need for constant monitoring. With all the activity around him and so much to learn and see, it came as a surprise when Dave showed up in the doorway. 

"Is it time to leave already?" Rodney asked.

"You seemed pretty busy so I got us a room for the night." Dave said, dangling a room key in front of him.

"Uh, you what?" Rodney asked.

"It's almost one a.m., Rodney, I sent the driver home four hours ago." Dave smiled. "C-Tel is putting us up for the night in one of their dorms. Not exactly all the comforts of home, but…" Dave gave Rodney a long, sliding glance, "I think…" he paused, giving Rodney a wolfish smile, "in fact, I'm sure we can make the best of it."

Rodney scowled. His eyes burned from staring at the computer screen for too long and too much bad coffee had left a fuzzy, dead-rat feeling in his mouth. Even so, he knew there was something off, something smarmy in Dave's smile that he didn't care for at all.

Dave was no John and Rodney was no pushover. Now, Rodney wished he were more awake just so he could appreciate it more when he told Dave he'd already spoken to Carter and arranged a separate room for the night.

~*~

By 2 a.m., John knew he should be sleeping, not tossing and turning, the bed mocking him with the hollow promise of sleep. He tried, but not even Ronon's news was enough to steer his mind away from his worries about Rodney and Dave.

Surely, Dave wouldn't…and Rodney couldn't be attracted to…only Dave… John had to admit, Dave was the one who had inherited the Sheppard charm and charisma. All too often, John felt like a plain paper bag standing next to his brother. 

He swore under his breath. Of course, Rodney would be attracted to Dave. But, damn it, Rodney was – his–his gift! His! And he should be here with John. Because…because they – John punched his pillow, a little too afraid to finish that thought. Giving up, he flopped back down on the bed and pulled the pillow over his face. Space be damned, when Rodney got back, things were going to change.

~*~

When no one answered the front door of the Sheppard household, Telya decided to let herself in through the kitchen entrance. She was glad she had. Dave Sheppard sat at the table, one hand over a bloody nose and fumbling with an ice pack with the other. John was standing on the other side of the kitchen rubbing his knuckles and glaring.

Rodney McKay was eating toast and in the middle of making coffee at the same time.

"Teyla!" Rodney waved her forward, toast still in hand. "Come talk some sense into these idiot brothers. I've tried, but all I'm doing is wasting my breath. Could you please get it into John's thick skull that Dave did not have his wicked way with me? As if! There are laws against that, you know."

Teyla gave a slow nod, biting back a grin. She was sure it wasn't helping matters that Rodney was standing there in nothing but a huge purple bath towel wrapped around his hips. John kept giving Rodney sideways glances, and Teyla wondered if he was aware of the pink flush on his cheeks.

She took the ice pack gently out of Dave's hand. "Let me see." 

"Is it broken?" Dave asked, sounding as plaintive as a three-year-old without his favorite toy.

"It is not," Teyla answered. “Merely bloody.” 

"I told you I didn’t break it," John huffed. 

"Enough!" Teyla pointed to each in turn. "Dave, go to the bathroom and clean up. Rodney, I would like you to pour me a cup of coffee, please, and, John," she commanded, "you sit down right now and tell me what this is all about."

Her coffee had barely cooled when Teyla pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. In fifteen minutes, all she'd managed to get out of John was that Dave was reverting to despicable Sheppard form and he, John, needed to protect Rodney from too-charming-for-their-own-good, libidinous, opportunistic brothers. 

Rodney was no help at all, and if he rolled his eyes one more time, Teyla was going to reach across the table and slap him.

She was truly grateful when Dave chose that moment to shuffle in, even if she did have to hold back a smile at the ridiculous oversized bandage he had over his nose. 

John pouted, Rodney grinned, and Dave actually looked apologetic. 

"I'm sorry to involve you, Teyla," Dave said, looking sheepish. "This is all my fault." 

"Go on," she encouraged.

"I was jealous."

"What are you talking about?" John asked.

"You," Dave said. "You've got everything. You're the oldest, you've got dad fawning all over you, shaping you for the company…"

"But it's not like that," John began. "I don't even want—"

"And," Dave interrupted, shaking a finger at John. "You've got Rodney. Spacefall! Do you have any idea how much he talks about you? It's all John this and John that, and do you think John would be interested in – whatever new idea he's just come up with." Dave's voice softened in bemusement. "I'm beginning to believe he really is going to get the company back on track, because of you. No one ever—not for me — not like that.

"So yes, John, I admit it, I tried to get some of that for me." He nodded in Rodney's direction. "Besides, look at him, he's gorgeous. But you don't have to worry, it's not me Rodney wants. He's made that perfectly clear.” 

John ducked his head and smiled. "Yeah, I'm getting that. Guess it just took me awhile."

The pause in conversation started to turn awkward when John stood up. "I have a solution. If you agree, Dave, and Arbiter Emmagan," he paused to nod at Teyla, "gives it her approval. It's simple really. Let me buy out Rodney's contract." John glanced at Rodney, who was giving him a wide-eyed stare in return. "He's… I don't want him to be a gift someone can withdraw on a whim. I want…" 

When John finally spoke again, his words shook with emotion. "I want to…to buy… Rodney. In exchange, when it's time for auction I'll deny my Intent. You can have it. All of it."

"John!" Teyla laid a hand on John's arm. "This is very noble, but without claiming Intent of Family Obligation, what will you do? Besides, your father will never allow it."

"I only need time, Teyla. Dave wants this. He'll be good at it, and I think, just maybe, his plans for fixing Auction are better than my idea to get rid of it. It's been pointed out to me that I might have been somewhat single minded.”

"Are you sure, John?" Dave looked stunned.

"I'm sure. Besides, we can't let all that studying go to waste. I can't help imaging all the hours you must have spent accessing the library logs, studying banking, commerce law, and employment statistics in order to pull your plan off. And here, I always thought you were only out for yourself and a good time."

"How did you know about that?" Dave turned to Teyla. "Did you tell him?"

"I may have mentioned that you found a reference to historic employment houses. Places called Job Banks?" She gave him a pointed look with a delicate raise of one eyebrow. "They seemed quite intriguing."

Her voice grew calm, almost dreamy as she continued, "I imagine a place where people could be hired out for a few weeks or months at a time instead of years. If they found it unsuitable, they could simply quit. Truly and honestly, walk away just because they'd changed their minds. For this, I would happily lay down my role as arbiter." 

"It would involve a complete change in the way our society thinks," John added. "I don't have the patience or ability to cultivate the kind of political influence to pull it off, but Dave does."

Rodney looked back and forth between the two brothers like he wanted to interfere but had no idea what to say. Teyla decided to take pity on him. "Rodney, why don't you go to your room and get dressed?" 

"Seriously?" Rodney asked, dismay written all over his face. "You expect me to leave, now?"

"Yes, Rodney, I am quite serious. You have no say in the renegotiation of your contract. That is between John and Dave and myself. Your presence will only makes it more awkward for everyone. Let me do my job, Rodney. I promise you, I will look out for your interests." She gave him a stern look. "Now shoo, there's nothing you can do here except make things more difficult to arrange."

With a put upon sigh, Rodney refilled his coffee cup and turned to leave. As one, the rest of them watched the sway of his towel-clad hips as he left the room. 

"I think I'm having second thoughts," Dave said with a wistful sigh.

"I can see why you would," Teyla answered with a wistful sigh of her own. "Do you think there's any chance of his towel slipping off?"

"With that ass? Nope. Not a chance. Oh, stop hyperventilating, John," Dave said. "If this is what you want, I'm not about to pass up the deal."

"Do you have second thoughts, John?" Teyla asked. "You're gambling a great deal on your future and Rodney's."

"He's worth it to me." John paused. "You should know I've been talking to Ronon. I'm still waiting on some information, but if Rodney is half as clever as I think he is, it might not be that much of a gamble."

"Well, that's cryptic, And frankly, big brother, it's a relief to know you've got some sort of plan for yourself."

"I too am glad to hear it," Teyla said. "I admit it lifts a burden off my heart to see the two of you talking again." With a smile, she pulled a folder from her briefcase. "Now then, let us proceed with smoothing out details of Rodney McKay's new ownership."

~*~

Rodney peeked up at John from the corner of the desk. "Hand me that… no the other that, thanks." Diving back down out of sight, he added, "Just have to make a few last connections…bingo!"

"Is that it?" John leaned over, craning his neck for a better look. 

"That's it." Rodney stood, dusting his hands in satisfaction from a job well done. It had taken weeks of programming to integrate the crystals properly, but finally they were ready. "All we have to do now is repeat the process for the rest of the computers and you'll be good to go. Well, I suppose technically they're Dave's computers now." Rodney looked at John, suddenly shy. "You gave up…"

"I got what I wanted," John said softly. "We really don't have to talk about it."

Rodney decided to let it slide for now. Instead, he asked, "When are you going to tell me about this supposed information Ronon's getting for you? It's been ages since you mentioned it. Surely he knows something by now?"

"Tonight. Ronon's going to radio me when his ship gets back in range." 

"John, if he's out of range, and bear in mind I know exactly how powerful the DRC communications are, where is he?"

"Ever heard of the heliosheath? 

"Yes, of course I've heard of it. It's the outermost layer of —wait. What's he doing way out there?"

"Let's just say he's checking on a little real estate for me." John gave Rodney's shoulder a firm squeeze. "Don't hang up your tool box yet, McKay, I hear it's a real fixer upper."

"Oh my god, he found a ship. He did, didn't he? You think it can be fixed." At that moment, Rodney didn't know whether to throttle John or kiss him. "Why didn't you say something? Is it a cruise liner class? It is. Of course it is, or you wouldn't refer to it as real estate. Those ships are the size of a small island. Ah ha! I can tell by the expression on your face I'm right! Exactly how big is it?"

"Pretty damn big. It showed up on Ronon's radar during his last pass through the debris belt. They don't usually search that far out but his lead guy, Walter, claimed to have a feeling." John shrugged. 

"Short story is, when they checked it out they found this huge ship just drifting in space. According to Ronon, it's intact except for a breach on one side. His crew is repairing it now." 

"Wow, I'd love to see it." 

"Glad to hear you say that, buddy." John threw his arm over Rodney's shoulder. "I already told Ronon that as soon as she'd hold air, you were going to fix her up so she could fly." 

A long moment passed. John's arm remained a warm weight on Rodney's shoulder and he leaned into it. Yes, it was exciting to think about revamping an old ship. Making it, if he was reading John right, a home in space for the two of them. 

Wow, exciting and damned unnerving, to be honest. So many things could go wrong, but Rodney couldn't really think about that right now. Not with John pressed against his side, smelling like warm spice and musk. 

John owned him now and Rodney wanted him to take advantage of that ownership so badly he could scream. He twined his fingers in John's shirt and started to pull him closer. 

"Rodney?" John pulled away. "We should…Ronon will be calling in soon."

Rodney forced his fingers to let go of John's shirtfront. If John didn't want him, there was nothing he could do about it.

~*~

Rodney pulled the card out of his pocket and carefully smoothed the wrinkles out. He glanced up, making sure he'd locked his bedroom door. The last thing he wanted was someone – mainly John – poking their head in out of curiosity. Mail was a curiosity these days. Not so rare it would raise eyebrows, but sporadic enough to cause attention and John seemed to have no sense of personal space when it came to Rodney. He sighed. Jeannie shouldn't have sent it, but he found it impossible to be mad.

Obviously handmade, in typical little sister fashion, Rodney couldn't help smiling fondly at the girlish effort. A cutout of a big pink heart with the words Happy Birthday adorned the front. Inside, she'd colored a rainbow whose end led to what was apparently to be a pot of birthday wishes. The rainbow only had three colors and the pot of wishes was scrunched down in the corner, looking more like a black blob than a kettle. 

He traced a finger over the written wishes _Wealth – Health - Happiness_. It was the other part that she'd written that caused the problem. Not the _I miss you_. Rodney missed her too – as surprising as that was. No, it was the _Have the best 18th birthday ever!_ that was so very damning. 

He had no idea what John would do if he found out Rodney had lied. Not because of his age. John wasn't that much older himself. But if he knew Rodney purposely entered Auction years early…. He didn't think John would turn him in. Unless that idiot thought he was doing it for Rodney's own good. 

He tucked the card away in his underwear drawer. If it became a problem, he'd find a way to deal with it. Teyla would likely help, or Dave. He squared his shoulders. There was work to do, and then he'd drag John off for some mindless afternoon entertainment. If he might lose this, he was going to grab every minute with John while he could. 

Decision made, he opened the door and felt the color drain from his face. John.

~*~

John stood in the doorway to Rodney's bedroom holding a wrapped gift. "This came for you. From your parents. I went down to the post to get it myself after they called."

"They called?"

"Yes, Rodney. They wanted to know if your package came. Funny thing about that. They were under the impression you were just visiting for a few weeks working on a research project for Sheppard Spaceyards.” 

"Oh god. I can explain!" Rodney blurted. "They don't know about…I never told them…they have no idea I was auctioned off. Um, did you tell them?"

"I should have." John pushed the gift into Rodney's hands. "They were too excited about your birthday. I couldn't. That's another funny thing. It doesn't take a genius to realize it's far too soon for it to be your birthday -- if you went to Auction the day you turned twenty-one the way it says on your paperwork. But, you lied on it, didn't you? How old are you, really?"

Rodney clenched his jaw, but he refused to meet John's gaze. "You're right. I lied. I made up false documents – well, I guess it won't really matter to you why I did it." He slowly raised his eyes to look John in the face. "What are you going to do?"

"Just tell me one thing, Rodney. Did my brother put you up to this?"

"Your brother? No! I never even heard of him before he bought me. This was all my decision, John. All of it."

"Okay, then," John said with relief. "Guess that means when you threatened to make my life a living hell if I made you leave, it was because you really do want to be here." 

"Of course I meant it. And, you're okay with that?"

"Keeping you for the next six years? Yeah, Rodney, I am very okay with that." John knew he was smiling like a goof and didn't care.

Looking at Rodney, John wondered why, after they'd cleared the air between them, he still looked so pale. Concerned, he asked, "Are you worried about tomorrow?" 

"Let's see, first trip into space. First time investigating an abandoned spacecraft. First time trying to fix equipment I've never seen before – no wait, that would be normal. Sure. Why wouldn't I be ready? Er, you are certain it's safe, right?" Rodney asked, color rushing back to his cheeks.

John tried his best to sound reassuring. "You were there. You heard what Ronon said. He's the best debris corps specialist out there. I'd trust him with my life."

"That's all fine and good, but let me remind you," Rodney said, "it's my life too."

"Rodney." John moved closer. "It's ready. Ronon's crew has been working on it for weeks. They probably have it in better shape now than it ever was. They just need you to get the systems back online. You can do this." 

"Life support and navigation." Rodney nodded. "Okay."

"Life support and navigation to start with," John teased. "We want to find out everything that she can do." 

He should have left it there, and gotten out of the room right then. Instead, he reached out to push a wisp of hair away from Rodney's face. Even that might have been okay, except Rodney turned his face and John found his hand curving along Rodney's cheek. Rodney's eyelashes fluttered, just for a moment, his mouth falling open in a soft "oh" and John was lost.

"I want you." The traitorous words escaped John's mouth before he could stop them.

"Oh, thank god," Rodney pulled at John, trying to get him down on the bed with him.

"Wait."

"You have got to be kidding me! John, do you have any idea how long I've been waiting?"

"No, not that, I mean…" John moved away from the bed to stand a few feet away from Rodney. "Stay there and…and stand up."

Rodney did, looking adorably flustered and confused. 

"Take your clothes off. I… want …" John licked his lips. "I want to see." The words sound gritty and desperate to his own ears but John couldn't help that. Besides, Rodney didn't seem to mind how it sounded.

He watched, unable to tear his eyes away from the way Rodney's Adam's apple moved or the way his long, agile fingers begin to fumble with the buttons of his shirt until his chest lay bare. Jesus. Rodney's skin looked as inviting and lush as John remembered. 

Rodney fumbled with the zipper of his pants, looking frustrated as hell. His cheeks were flushed with color and when Rodney bit at the soft fullness of his bottom lip John couldn't bear it any longer. He had to touch. "I can…let me. Oh god, your nipples." John rubbed his thumb over first one, then the other, then did it again just to hear Rodney's desperate moan.

"John, please." Rodney reached out and starting tugging at John's clothes. "Get these off! If we don't have all our clothes off in the next five seconds I'm not fixing your ship!"

"Can't have that." John laughed softly against Rodney's collarbone. Time was doing funny things. Speeding up and racing through every second apart, yet slowing down to sweet, long minutes when their skin touched, be it with hands or mouth until they were both naked.

Rodney pulled John down on top of him cupping his ass, pulling them tightly together. They fell into an awkward, clumsy rhythm. Then Rodney shifted. Without warning, John's cock slipped into that perfect groove in the crease of Rodney's groin. He shuddered and pressed down harder; rubbing there —right there— wet and hot against Rodney and Rodney was doing the same, matching him thrust for thrust. 

Rodney tightened his hold, arched sharply and with a gasp came against John's belly. He was still holding on tight when toe-curling bliss slammed into John, and suddenly he was coming.

Rodney had a stunned expression on his face. Slowly he smeared his hand through the wet mess on his belly. John was about to suggest getting a towel when he looked up at him through those sinfully long eyelashes and began to lick his fingers. 

"God, Rodney… you…that's my come you're…. Fuck.” John clutched at Rodney's hips. His cock throbbed and with a shudder, he came again.

"Again? Seriously? Because of this?" Rodney licked slowly up the side of one finger.

"Nnngurgg."

John swore he could feel the smugness radiate off Rodney. He just couldn't do a thing about it right now. 

"I call evensies! You get twenty minutes, John, and then we are doing this again because there is no way you get to come more than I do."

~*~

They all stood waiting for Rodney's signal. John didn't know how Rodney was managing to work such finely detailed equipment while wearing a spacesuit but manage it he did. Clearly, it was painstaking work but finally Rodney unplugged the last cable.

He pulled out a tray of crystals, shifted their arrangement, and closed the tray. John had no idea why he was doing any of this, but it seemed to work. The readings began to edge into the green zone. 

"Breathable air, check! Engines online, check!' Rodney beamed at John. He hauled off his helmet and the movement made Rodney's hair stand up in wispy curls in the ship's lower gravity. "It will take somewhat longer to bring the temperature up, so I don't recommend taking the suits off yet. Give it an hour. Or so.” 

"Do we have navigation?" John asked.

"We will have," Rodney asserted. "The ship has more than enough power to bring everything online. I have no idea what it's using for a power source, mind you. I've never seen anything like it, but it's got power!" 

Only the weight of the spacesuit kept John from bouncing on his toes. 

"I have never seen such a place," Teyla said. "Were all the cruise liner ships like this one?"

Rodney elbowed John in the ribs. "You're the ship expert. Go ahead, tell her."

"Teyla," John rubbed at the short hairs on the back of his neck. "Ah…."

"He means, no." Rodney said. "There has never been a ship like this one on record anywhere."

"Yeah," John added, beaming at Rodney. "We have no idea what this baby can do. But I bet it's cool." 

"Ah. Cool," she teased. And do you know how you turned on the lights, John, just by walking into its chambers?" 

"I'd like to know that myself," Ronon said. "In all my time in the Corps, I've never seen anything like it."

"I have no idea,” John shrugged. 'It just happened. I was hoping Rodney knew. What I can tell you is that no craft like this ever came out of our Spaceyards."

"It didn't come from within our solar system." Ronon stared out the nearest view port and up at the towering spires. “I know it's a spaceship but —"

"—But," Teyla picked up the thread of conversation. "It seems something more." She paused. "So many people could live here, safely off the planet's surface."

Rodney clapped his hands together for attention. He'd abandoned his spacesuit and stood in the woven blue under-suit and space boots. John took a couple of minutes to admire the way it clung to the curves of his body. 

"Were you even listening, John?" Rodney huffed. "I said — we can save the planet."

John narrowed his eyes, "That's not what you said. You said something about…something else."

Hands on his hips, Rodney glared. "Tractor beams. This ship has them and once I have them online….

John grinned with sudden understanding. "Ronon and his crew can pull the debris away from the planet!"

"Yes! Granted," Rodney continued, "there's still a massive amount of space junk and it will be touchy to get in there and move it without causing collisional cascading, but if we can manage, Earth will be safe.”

Ronon crossed his arms over his chest. "Pull in the DRC. They know what they're doing. House the Corps here—there's room. You can keep them on 24-hour rotation that way."

"Good thinking. We'll have to do some house cleaning, but you guys are used to barracks living, right?" John looked at the towers in the distance. "I have a feeling we can do a lot better than barracks here. How long, Rodney, before you can have it ready?"

"Hmmm," he looked up from the reading he was studying. "Soon. Certainly by the time you have everyone onboard and settled in. It's like, and I know how silly it sounds, but the ship's systems are responding like it wants to help." Rodney shook his head. "No, I can't explain it."

They stood staring at each other and the mystery of their surroundings. One by one, smiles burst across each and every face. It would work. They all knew it. 

The day would come, once they'd cleared the sky, when they'd fly the city-ship somewhere else. Somewhere people weren't still afraid of big ships in the sky overhead. John was certain of it. Maybe they'd even come back some day.

Smiling, Teyla laid a hand on John's arm. "Do you have room for one more? If this works, and Dave's plans are successful as well, I suspect I may be out of a job." 

John beamed. 

"Ah, ah, ah, Teyla, I know that look," Rodney said, pointing at John's face. "You, me, all of us, we're in this together. Like family. And no one who wants to go is going to be left behind. He'd take the whole damn planet along if he could."

If you believe that you should christen this ship the _Soteria_ , John." Ronon said. "After the goddess of safety and deliverance."

"We can name her later, guys." John said, patting one small, glowing blue panel "For a little while, I'd think I'd just like to call her - home."

*~***~*

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks go to my many (and they are numerous) betas and cheerleaders. Special thanks go to kimber, shaddyr, mezzo_cammin and neevebrody. I tweaked muchly so all mistakes are mine.


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